


Victim

by devrait (inconsequentia)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fingerfucking, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gore, Knifeplay, Other, Snuff, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23764408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inconsequentia/pseuds/devrait
Summary: You're not sure exactly how this night is going to end, but you're positive that it won't end well for you.
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Victim

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this partially as an attempt to squick out my qpp. Turned into something resembling a fic. 
> 
> Seriously though read the tags and warnings. Please.

Your heart races as you watch the man on the other side of the kitchen. He has his sleeves rolled up crisply; too well put together for what he's doing. You can't tell from here if the meat is human, as you suspect it is, but you're dedicated enough to surviving the night that you don't dare ask or, god forbid, leave your chair and look lest he decide your curiosity is rude.

You're not sure how long you wait there, alternating between staring at one of the hanging pans and taking glances at him. You can barely look at him more than out of the corner of your eye out of fear that he will somehow know you're staring and look back at you.

You fear his eyes the most.

The silence is only interrupted by the sounds of food being prepared. The hot sizzle of liquid hitting a hot pan, the horrifying sound of a knife slicing right through something onto the chopping board. You can't help but flinch every time you hear the knife hit the cutting board or the scrape of it along a sharpener.

Does he really need to sharpen his knives that much? You're well aware its a power move but somehow it still terrifies you.

After a while, the room starts to fill with the aromatic smells of garlic and onion, and you hate how good it smells. You don't know what spices he's using, but you know how good of a chef he is. Despite everything, you know you will enjoy this meal from a pure taste standpoint. You think that might be the worst part of it all.

He's got you so drugged up to the gills it's hard to think straight. You remember thinking that at least you're not good meat right now, so your corpse won't be eaten, but that's little solace because that means he wants to play with you.

Meat at least should be healthy and tender to preserve taste. Toys have no such protections.

Whatever he doses you with next must be an aphrodisiac. This doesn't seem like his m.o. but you weren't even originally on this case. All you did was talk to that weird guy William or whatever, and suddenly his very case is all over you.

When he places a finger at your entrance, you can't help but push back against it. It's debasing despite the knowledge that it's the chemicals forcing the need into your body. When he pushes in completely dry, you at least feel somewhat grateful for the fact that he's wearing gloves.

Fucking freak.

It could be to distance himself from the scene or uncleanliness, but more likely it's meant to dehumanize you like you're not even worth the effort of a passion killing. Little more than a disposable, temporary amusement.

It burns as he continues to fingerfuck you mercilessly. You know blood isn't lube in any way, but it has to be better than the dryness you're sure he's encouraging somehow.

He pushes in a second finger long before you're ready and you scream into the dishtowel he shoved into your mouth. Not even a proper gag. God, you hate him.

He scissors his fingers for a bit as you're lost to agony. When he pulls out you're awash with fear and relief. The pain may be over for now, but you know he's going to want to do worse now that he's done with whatever it is he was preparing you for.

The knife along your shoulder doesn't surprise you, he seems like the type to prefer a more precise instrument. If you knew jack shit about cooking, maybe you could tell what it's for.  
All you know right now is that it is cutting bright red lines into your flesh. You howl out in pain again trying to pull away from the blade, but it's no use. There's nowhere to go.

The aphrodisiacs are probably even making your blood flow quicker. You're somehow still aroused despite the pain, and that sickens you. Not only are you at the mercy of a violent killer who wants you in as much pain as possible for his sick desire for a power fantasy, but your own body is betraying you and finding pleasure in the experience.

You’re distantly aware that this is a victim-blaming mentality, but in the moment, it's hard to rationalize the oily feeling in your stomach as you try to press your legs together for some semblance of release from at least one of the overwhelming sensations.

He notices what you're trying to do and pauses. You're sure he's smirking, that bastard. If you make it out of this alive you're going to kill him. If you don't survive, you're gonna haunt him until you can beat him bloody in hell.

The dual sensations of fear and relief are back when he moves the knife away from your back. Your fear is proved justified when you feel the blade edge of the knife against your entrance. When he slices cleanly but firmly down your opening you shout loud enough to make your voice break but you can't help it and you can't stop; the pain overwhelms all of your senses. 

You know that breaking a femur or childbirth are supposedly some of the worst pains possible, but you think this must be somewhere up there. The sheer number of nerves coupled with the previous abuse of your hole add up to enough pain you make you blackout for a few blessed seconds of freedom. 

He shoves three fingers right inside your sliced open hole. You haven't stopped screaming, but you're running out of breath. Snot and tears are dripping down your face. In some weird way, the ticklish feeling of the fluids on your face is almost as bad as the knife pressing against your most intimate places. you're so far gone from pain that it's almost funny

Through the pain, you feel what you think is the tip of the knife against your genitals. When he stabs directly inward, the sheer agony overwhelms you and you're finally released from consciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal, who was jealous that MC talked to Will, and also a little horny, proceeds to fuck the bloody mess that is left of their genitals and dispose of the body unceremoniously.


End file.
